Love Is An Unfamiliar Name
by blueowls
Summary: Mercedes x Quinn. /It's not like it hits her out of the blue or anything./


**Author Note: **For the birthday prompt battle.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Love Is An Unfamiliar Name**

It's not like it hits her out of the blue or anything. Mercedes watches as Puck tries―and apparently succeeds―to flirt some senior Cheerio away from the party and up the stairs to his room. Anyone with half a brain can see where that's going to go, and even if they couldn't, the look on Puck's face, part cockiness and part hunger, would be telling enough. Mercedes looks to her right, and on the other side of Puck's huge couch, Brittany and Santana are making out, Santana's hands cupping the back of Brittany's neck and pulling her closer as Brittany's hand travels up Santana's thigh. Mercedes lets her gaze settle on them for a second before looking away, feeling a pang of jealousy hit her. It didn't look like they were doing it for attention.

Kurt's doubly off-limits because he's got a boyfriend now, and it seems like everyone's hooking up except her. Mercedes huffs as she shifts in her seat, crossing her legs, and knows better than to think that being in a relationship will fix anything. But when everyone else is too busy sucking face to make conversation or even just dance, that gnawing realization that she's alone is hard to ignore.

Mike ambles up to her, that familiar easy smile on his face, but he only leans down and presses something cold and hard into her hand and doesn't stay. Mercedes looks down at the wine cooler in her hand as he walks back to the football players and decides that she's done stupider things in her life than drink to forget. It's what the party is all about, anyway.

She's struggling to twist the cap off as someone plucks the bottle out of her hand, unopened, and Quinn seats herself primly on the armrest of the couch, smoothing her white dress over her lap with the hand that's not holding the bottle of alcohol. To Mercedes' right, Brittany gets up, and as usual, Santana follows, the two disappearing into the crowd hand-in-hand.

"Say no to wine coolers," Quinn says dryly as she holds the drink out, and Mercedes frowns as someone walks by and takes it for themselves, unable to tell if it's Quinn's own brand of humor or if she's being serious.

"Say what?"

Quinn shrugs, threading her fingers together and resting her clasped hands on her lap, and Mercedes lets out a defeated sigh, resigning herself to sobriety. At least she's got someone to talk to now.

"So how's it going back at your place?" she asks, and Quinn turns her head, meeting her eyes.

"My mom's treating me like I'm made of glass," Quinn answers with a weak smile, and she shifts on the couch's armrest so that she's sitting facing Mercedes, bringing her feet up onto the cushion because Puck could care less. Mercedes moves over, giving her room, and Quinn leans forward, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Getting some sleep, now that you're out of the house," Mercedes chuckles, and Quinn frowns.

"I'm telling you, Mercedes," she insists, fists on her hips. "I don't snore."

Mercedes shrugs carelessly, smiling because Quinn's smiling. "Then who was?"

Quinn shrugs back in response, or at least Mercedes thinks she does until Quinn's expression changes to one of annoyance and she looks over her shoulder. She glares at a retreating football player, but it's been a long time since she's been able to intimidate anyone into doing anything, and she gets no apology for being jostled.

"Jerk," Quinn says icily, and Mercedes pats the couch next to Quinn's feet once the other girl's turned back to look at her. Quinn slides carefully off the armrest and onto the couch, settling next to Mercedes, and the conversation trails off until they're sitting in silence, watching the party go by. Rachel is threading her way through the crowd, carrying a tray of the hors d'oeuvres she prepared, Matt is grinding on Mike and looking neither drunk or ashamed, and Finn is shouting something about beer pong from the kitchen, but the need to make herself a part of it is gone, and Mercedes knows that most of that feeling is because of Quinn.

Quinn, who's sitting next to her not with an expression of boredom like Mercedes expected, but one of yearning.

"Does it hurt?" Mercedes asks softly, and Quinn turns to look at her, an eyebrow arched softly in confusion.

"Does what hurt?"

Mercedes swallows, crossing her arms over her chest and deciding that she's going to go _there_. "Being alone."

There's an uncomfortable silence, and Mercedes reaches out after a moment's hesitation, settling a hand over one of Quinn's as Quinn tilts her head down onto her shoulder, lacing their fingers together. Mercedes doesn't need any explanation on who the girl is missing. It's written all over her.

"Yes," Quinn whispers, barely audible above the noise of the party. "You know that."

Mercedes swallows dryly again, risking a nod, and Quinn sniffs loudly. They stay that way, watching the party dwindle as people pair off to darker corners or stumble out the front door, until Quinn's head lifts off of her shoulder and there are lips brushing against her cheek. It's so unexpected that Mercedes almost jumps, but she saves herself from moving and clipping Quinn's chin with her shoulder, although just barely.

"It hurts a little less now," Quinn whispers in her ear, and she gets up, her hand slipping from Mercedes' grasp as she leaves.

Even though she's sitting on Puck's couch by herself and the only other people around are those too drunk to be having sex or drive themselves home and Rachel, meticulously picking the room clean of trash with a garbage bag in one of her gloved hands, Mercedes realizes that the fluttering in her chest is the feel of her loneliness slowly ebbing away.


End file.
